Country social

 

Not living in a village it's quite rare to meet up with neighbours, unless it's a brief chat while out walking (which is usually quite enough for me). However, at the weekend I received an email asking if I'd like to join in with someone's surprise birthday celebrations. It was a small, spur of the moment gathering, nothing formal and just a ten minute walk away. I accepted and then panicked about what to make and take with less than 24 hours notice, as if there is one thing I learned from my mother, it was that under no circumstances do you visit someone empty handed.

Overnight I churned ideas about in my head, trying to fudge together a recipe that used ingredients I had to hand (because I'm a long way from shops) and that would be not too simple but not too complicated. In the end I decided to make little pasties filled with feta cheese, cumin baked crushed chickpeas with garlic and lemon juice and strained frozen spinach, encased in rough puff pastry with an egg wash and sprinkled with sesame seeds. 

Of course this was not the uncomplicated plan I'd been aiming for and I was already exhausted from a long day of sitting in on an interview panel for my other outside work. But I rested in the morning and eventually started pastry making a few hours beforehand. At one point, I looked at the pastry and the bowl of filling and thought 'shall I just make one big pie?' Then I dismissed this very sensible idea and began cutting out dear little pastry rounds, painstakingly filling, crimping and trimming them into miniature pasties. It was worth the effort though, as they looked pleasingly like proper party food. I had just enough time to bake them, half an hour before I was due to meet up with a local friend who was going to walk with me to the party. I was only five minutes late.

   

Now that we are in official British Summertime, the longer evenings are a welcome break from the short, grey days of Winter. This Spring has been exceptional and so we wandered slowly down the lane, enjoying the mellowing light and long shadows.

The hedgerows are spattered with tiny floral treasures of Celandine, Primrose and Stitchwort, with the promise of tall, fronded Queen Anne's Lace to follow, later in the month.  

The field across from my cottage is just coming into flower. I love the smell of rapeseed and for me it is the quintessential smell of early summer, as well as adding a cheerful splash of citrus yellow to the landscape. Not so pleasant if you suffer from hay-fever though; poor Jean-next-door is suffering already from it.   

It felt strange to be out and socialising, but I knew several people there, including a couple of older women who have moved away and who had been ferried in to enjoy the meet-up. I was put in the awkward position of having to guess someone's age and tentatively suggested '80?', to be met with a rather pleased guffaw followed by 'don't be daft, I'm 90'.

It was a joyful occasion, with the birthday celebrant being suitably surprised and delighted. I was content to sit on the edge and chat to people as they came to me. I had a small glass of champagne and enjoyed being part of something nice. This being a British Spring evening, the setting of the sun was our cue to wind up the festivities and soon we were packing up, chivvied along by a cool Easterly breeze that had picked up as the light lowered. A short and tired walk home was all I needed to round off the day and return to the cottage, where my warm bed was waiting.